


Mistaken

by varooooom



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varooooom/pseuds/varooooom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Camelot should fall, Arthur knows it will be of his own doing. He has paid his dues in blood, and never once was a drop of it his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistaken

**Author's Note:**

> Evil!Merlin AU. The vast majority of this is based off of some RP threads between myself and the wonderful Kamilah on Dreamwidth. Her perfection is shamelessly used with permission, and I love you so dearly, my Kami. You inspire me more than the Sun encourages the Moon to shine. ♥

Camelot is falling. 

Flames that cannot be quelled by water lick greedily at the city, eating away at homes that have long since been evacuated, abandoned or become the final resting place of their owners, insatiable and unyielding. Merlin told him once long ago of spells powerful enough to bind to the enchanter's life force, to last eternal so long as the sorcerer's heart should beat. Arthur walks amidst the inferno, cape billowing behind him as a trail of blood, the Pendragon crest emblazoned on his shoulder as a Sun that stopped burning lifetimes ago. He feels no heat from the flames around him. There is only the cold sting of the source's hatred, a chill that stops the heart and freezes time. Blue eyes find a fallen child not yet reached her teens, stopped short by a collapsed building and left half buried in the wreckage with no one to claim her name.

Arthur falls to his knees.

* * *

> Impromptu ordering of Merlin to prepare the horses, a quick lie to the king, and one light-hearted and adrenaline-coursing race to Nowhere later, and Arthur lays back on the picnic blanket with a light smile and his hands tucked comfortably behind his head. He's done quite well, he thinks, and is rather pleased with himself even as Merlin near _immediately_ sets in on the complaining.

> "All right, I'm here. What's so special about this place?"

> "Absolutely _nothing_ ," Arthur says blandly, closing his eyes against the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the towering trees around them. The air is lightly chilled, a gentle breeze carrying the sound of the nearby stream like a kiss on the cheek. Comfortable, quiet, relaxed. Perfect. "I just thought it might be a good place to spend your day off."

> Well. Close to perfect, because _Mer_ lin still manages to be irritable even when Arthur's given him a random day free of his duties. "It's _my_ day off. Shouldn't I decide where to spend it?" But he plops down beside Arthur all the same, and the prince tries not to grin too much.

> "Let's be entirely honest here. Is there _really_ anyplace else you'd rather be?"

> "I could be in my bed. Getting some well-earned rest."

> "'Well-earned,' really? You think so?" The sarcasm is nearly overwhelming. Arthur pulls one arm free to give Merlin a playful shove, and then goes right back to lazing about on his arse. He's not really out to bust Merlin's chaps, so he'll give him a break. Just this once. "There's no place better for a rest. We're outside of Camelot, away from the palace. No titles here. Just Arthur and Merlin, having a lie-in outdoors. Promise I won't even put any bugs in your hair."

> Merlin quiets, no doubt contemplating the implications of _Arthur_ proposing such a thing, before he nudges him right back. "Just Arthur and Merlin," he repeats, then adds fondly, "You're still a prat. Even without the bugs."

> "And _you're_ still an idiot," Arthur retorts without any sort of bite, still smiling to himself, "I suppose that makes us equal. But only for today, so enjoy it while it lasts."

> "Yeah ... 'suppose it does," and Merlin's lack of retort at the jab is what finally gets Arthur to peek his eyes open again, very subtly shifting just a little to be able to see him sprawled out beside him, mirroring Arthur's comfortable position. A smile finds its way to his lips without his knowledge, and he does absolutely nothing to try and hide it.

> "See? It's not _too_ terrible, I hope. If it is, though, say nothing or I'll rescind my earlier promise of withholding bugs."

> Merlin snorts out a laugh in the utmost of attractive manners, "When you make a promise like that, you aren't supposed to tack on conditions when you feel like it later." His foot moves across the short distance between them to nudge at Arthur's. "I'm always telling people that you're fair - keep it up and I might have to rethink all that."

> "Now why on _Earth_ would you _possibly_ spread such falsehood about me?" Arthur jokes, raising his hand to gesture to their place, secluded away in the woods. "Clearly I am the most tyrannical, cruel master in all of the Five Kingdoms," he drops his hand and nudges Merlin's foot back with his own, grinning, "and I'll not have you telling people otherwise. You might ruin my reputation."

> "No, we can't have that," he responds quietly in a soft tone that always manages to make Arthur's heart forget how to beat properly. "The people must be blind if they can't see how little you do for them, and how little you care for your kingdom. Prince Arthur, the weakest and least noble of the knights. When he is king, Camelot would surely never be the greatest and most just kingdom the land has ever known."

> There's something to be said of the fact that Merlin can say such things, even in jest, and Arthur doesn't outright take offense to it. Maybe he's grown over the years, or maybe he simply lets Merlin off too easy - or maybe it's that he can hear the underlying theme, beneath the sarcasm and joke, that firm belief that Merlin has been toting for ages now. He looks over to try and get a read on him, but his eyes are closed and there's only a faint smile that only serves to confound his heart into racing faster. 

> "See, now, there's something I don't understand. I make a joke - a terrible one, mind, you're lucky to be my manservant - and you go off and say something like _that_." Small joke aside, there's something sincere in his voice and Arthur rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one arm and giving Merlin a somewhat playful nudge with the other. "Why is that? How is it that you have so much faith in me?"

> Blue eyes peek out from under his dark lashes, eyes only partially open. They close again as Merlin rolls onto his side so he can face Arthur and say very simply, "I just do."

> It's such a curious and strange thing, a wonder that Arthur doubts he'll ever fully understand. The knights show their loyalty on a daily basis, and there are always those that would thank him for the kindness his father does not show - but Merlin seems to define his own class of faith altogether. ' _I just do_ ,' simple as that yet stronger than the Sun, like nothing and no one before him, and likely anyone to follow.

> A hand finds its way to Merlin's cheek before Arthur has a chance to realise it.

> He's too busy studying the man beneath him - where the light hits his skin and the slight chill from the crisp air, the way he's curled comfortably into a ball as though everything is right and proper and perfect in the world, and it's a _wonder_. Everything about him, and everything about the both of them, because ' _I just do_ ,' and Arthur's brows furrow ever so slightly at the thought.

> "That's a _horrible_ answer."

> And then he kisses him.

* * *

Three days, the flames have claimed their place in the citadel, but the battle has waged for far longer. Arthur can't remember when it began precisely, only that it has claimed the lives of near a fourth of the main city and countless others across the bordering villages since the first storm hit. Winds that ravaged the crops and left the people near to famine. Rain that shrouded the kingdom in nightfall for two days' time and washed entire towns off the map. The thunderstorm was the most recent, and Arthur has scarcely blinked since the first bolt of lightning touched the ground and set these tireless embers upon the city. _His_ city, _his_ home, _his_ child as he brushes the fallen ashes of Camelot from her once coloured cheeks. 

Someone approaches from behind him. "My lord, he's been sighted."

* * *

> "Even if I'm not around to see it, I know I'd have nothing to worry about if it's all in your hands," comes Merlin's quiet voice from behind where Arthur is staring down into the citadel, arms folded across his chest, and he turns his head to quirk an eyebrow. Merlin smiles softly, tentatively, and it's screaming ' _goodbye_ ,' which Arthur can't understand for the life of him. "I might make fun of you all the time, but there's no one I would trust more to lead Camelot into greatness."

> And then Arthur sees it. He hasn't come to his room to ask after his duties for the day, or to prepare him for the Court, or anything at all. He's come to give his resignation. 

> Arthur's brows furrow, and he sighs softly before pushing off the sill and walking towards him. "You're an idiot, Merlin, but you're stupider than I gave you credit for if you think you won't be at my right hand in the end."

> Merlin starts a beat, then breaks into another tentative smile, but this one is more sincere, questioning and relieved. "Even with the magic?"

> Arthur quiets and stops just in front of him, lifting his hand to brush the back of his fingers along Merlin's cheek. "Particularly with the magic. How else am I to prove that not all sorcerers are evil?" And because that sounds far too much like a compliment, he quickly amends with, "Or terribly clever. Or clever at all, really - you may very well be physically _incapable_ of plotting the harm of anything larger than a beetle."

> Merlin's smile then is so blindingly bright, so painfully genuine that it thuds heavy in Arthur's chest and the king makes no move to stop the oncoming hug.

> "Thank you. For trusting me."

> Arthur wraps his arms around him, threading his hand into his hair and just holding him close. "Of course," he says quietly after a moment, "but I need you to understand." He pulls away, but keeps his hands on Merlin's arms to hold his gaze. "Do not break my heart again. Everything I have done is on your behalf, and from that, I would never recover and I would not forgive."

> Merlin blinks, face falling but not into sadness. It's something ... different. "Oh." It's shy and reserved, taken aback by the sudden intimacy, and he rubs at his neck self-consciously, gaze skittering away from Arthur's. "I think I should be the one worried about that. Everything I've done since the tournament with Valiant has been for you."

> Arthur smiles, crossing his arms playfully. "Really? Only since Knight Valiant? I vaguely recall you saving me from some enraged sorceress." He nudges him with his elbow, which gets him to lighten up a little and nudge back.

> "That was _before_. I still thought you were a prat then, but I couldn't just ... stand by and watch someone get hurt like that." He quiets, and Arthur idly thinks that this is such a far cry from the memory in question that it's almost surreal. Merlin had been forced on him then, and he hadn't wanted anything to do with it. But now, when by all accounts he should be sending him away, he's trying to keep him at his side. As though he can read this very thought in his eyes, Merlin smiles. "Everything else ... I did because you made me believe in you. But I've only been giving you advice sometimes. Not like you listen to me anyway."

> "Yes, well, I can't exactly be seen to take counsel from my _servant_ , now can I? And as though you need any reminder, you _are_ something of an idiot." Merlin laughs incredulously and Arthur smiles, something soft and warm in his eyes. "It's not your _words_ , Merlin, but rather ... well, _that_. That ... unyielding faith that you've given me. I don't know what I've done to deserve it, but it makes me think that perhaps, if I could inspire the same in others, then -"

> He pauses, hesitates, and looks back up at Merlin with a quiet exhale.

> "- then I may actually make a half decent king. I suppose you could say you _inspire_ me. You give me hope for a future I could not dare to dream of."

> Something glimmers in Merlin's eyes, and something else catches in Arthur's throat. "I can think of a lot, actually. Things that you've done to deserve it. Like - when you disobeyed your father to find the Mortius flower and cured me. When you personally came to Ealdor and helped my village when your father would not send an army."

> Arthur struggles to keep his eyes clear as he feels the steady quickening of his heartbeat, that warm feeling across his chest that he would've mistaken as pride were he a couple years younger and a few battles more naive. 

> "When you drank the poison in that labyrinth to save Camelot. When you believed in me and protected me from Lady Catrina. When you snuck out of Camelot and nearly got your _idiot_ self killed just to keep your word to a complete stranger."

> Arthur worries and he fears and despite Merlin's unwavering assurances, he wonders still if he's fit for the throne. It's a weight that threatens to crush him some days - until he sees the brightness in Merlin's eyes. That warmth is not simply pride, but hope, faith; a certainty that grounds him just as much as it lifts his spirits to the high heavens and _dammit_ , he is not going to cry.

> But Merlin is relentless, and steps closer to him until they are nearly flush together. "I could go on. The point _is_ , Arthur, that I know you, with all your flaws, and you've still earned my loyalty. You've done a lot more for me, for Gwen, for so many other commoners, than any other king or prince I know would."

> Merlin doesn't hesitate or even spare a thought to blush at his candor, before he catches Arthur's hand and lifts it, kissing the double-banded ring with all the reverence he can muster.

> "You must know I would swear fealty to no other king but you."

> Arthur swallows hard and nods his head once, blinking back the warmth that threatens to consume him with a smile. "Thank you, old friend."

> There are no tears, and there is no embrace, but there is sentiment in spades with just a few simple words and an unbroken gaze; the admittance that through their fights and quarrels and lies and deceit, Merlin is, always has been, and likely always will be Arthur's greatest and most loyal of friends. Not his useless servant, or another subject, or a sorcerer in disguise - but the kingdom and the crown, his sword and his shield, the light that will guide him home and onwards.

* * *

Arthur may not recall when the attacks first began, but the search started not a heartbeat afterwards, and the news could not have come soon enough. It should be a relief, a beacon of hope perhaps where all has been dwindled down to unspoken fears and shaken faith, but it does nothing to lighten Arthur's spirit.

"Thank you, Sir Leon. See that the men are prepared, we ride at once."

"Yes, sire," but the knight makes no effort to leave and watches charred limber clutter to the ground, spurring up small black clouds around the king's feet as he lifts the girl into his arms. "Arthur, allow me - "

"No," he says firmly, solid and sure even as his voice cracks with the sound of it. Arthur turns back towards the castle, cape following dutifully behind him, and pretends not to catch the distantly familiar pained expression in his friend's eyes.

"This burden is mine to carry."

* * *

> Arthur hesitates - and Morgana escapes his grasp once again.

> He doesn't speak to any of his knights on the ride back to the castle, nor does he see to the Court upon their return. He doesn't need to be among them to feel their disappointment upon him like a blanket of the finest wools, thick and heavy and far too hot and _suffocating_. He hardly dares to breathe, let alone trust himself to speak, to try and justify why he can't - _won't_ \- bring harm to his sister. His sister that was never allowed to be his sister, that was taken from him before he even had the chance to try. That abandoned him, and he _hesitated_. How can Arthur, who is loyal to a fault, bring harm to those that he loves so deeply, even in spite of their trespasses?

> Merlin touches his arm gently from across the table, and Arthur starts, breath catching and eyes stinging, but the softness in his eyes lifts the veil and leaves only understanding. An unspoken ' _it's okay_ ' when it is anything but. Arthur nods his head.

> "I know," he says, voice gruff and tired even to his own ears, and he tries not to cringe at the sound. Merlin doesn't falter.

> "Will you - ?"

> "I suppose - some day."

> "... Would you - ?"

> " ... I would."

> A silence follows their short exchange but full conversation, words left unsaid but heard as bells where Arthur cannot meet Merlin's gaze, and Merlin will not look away from Arthur. The king wonders when exactly they learned each other so thoroughly, when they became so in tune that even silence speaks volumes and they simply understand. He wonders if it's always been so.

> Merlin speaks soberly, voice low, "I would ask you to, you know. If I ... lost myself, like she did. I wouldn't want it to be anyone but you." 

> Arthur looks away. "... I know," but the words burn like acid and pierce him like a blade, a pain he knows a thousand times over and only hurts all the more for it. He _knows_.

> "Hey," Merlin smiles, something so brittle it would crumble under the lightest of pressures, but Arthur does not look up to see it, does not pay heed when Merlin moves his hand to his shoulder. "I'll try my hardest - so you won't have to worry about it."

> His eyes briefly dart to Merlin's hand, contemplating for just one moment what it would take to turn that hand against him, before looking away again. "Be sure that you do. I've far too much to deal with as it is without having to babysit your arse."

> "I think you've got it mixed up. _I'm_ the one always looking after _you_ ," Merlin laughs, humourless and awful, and that finally gets Arthur to turn, just enough to see him from his peripheral, and his brows furrow as he listens. "I'm supposed to be convincing you that magic can be used for good. Yet here I am, making it sound like it ... really does corrupt. Or ... something."

> His hand falls away, and Arthur watches it fumble with the other in his lap.

> "If ... if it is for yo -- for Camelot, I will do whatever it takes to keep the city safe. Learn powerful spells and kill those who threaten the kingdom's safety. Even if - even if they meant something to me before."

> Arthur thinks of Morgana looking him in the eyes as he failed to strike her down, and it takes him a moment to realise Merlin is a near mirror image. Fear, guilt, disgust - but with whom? He doesn't understand where Merlin is going with this, what he's trying to ask, until he finally raises his head and looks him in the eyes and there's where Arthur finds his answer.

> "Does that scare you? Because it scares me sometimes."

> "Hey. Hey -" and Arthur is out of his seat, kneeling on the ground before him to place his hands on top of Merlin's, and he speaks deliberately, emphasizing each word with complete sincerity. "I do not fear you. All right? You are _not_ a monster."

> Merlin's entire frame sags, easing back as though with those few words, an unseen weight has been lifted. "I don't want to be."

> The look in his eyes, the _vulnerability_ of it where Merlin is usually so stubbornly, adamantly, _impressively_ strong - it strikes a chord something awful deep within Arthur as the full weight of his words hit him like a blow to the chest. A notion that his father's efforts have instilled in the people all across their lands, that magic users are something dangerous and inhuman, something wrong, and it's found its way into even those users themselves. He's lived the one side of the battle, wondering if it's true of those around him, but to live the other - wondering if it's true of yourself?

> There isn't a thing in the world Arthur would not give to rid that plague of his people, of the world over, but more importantly, of the man before him - his ally and his friend, who has shown only good but sees only evil, and he would give _anything_.

> "You are not, and you will not become one. Understand? I will not allow it." Arthur lifts his right hand to place it beneath Merlin's ear, thumb brushing against his cheek fondly. "All right?"

> Merlin laughs once, sounding rather more akin to a gasp and a _sob_ , then shuts his eyes nods his head before leaning into the touch. "Promise me?"

> "You have my word."

> Merlin leans forward to kiss Arthur without opening his eyes again, and Arthur pretends not to notice the moisture there.

> "Thank you."

* * *

Silence has gripped the whole of the Court in an iron clasp for days now, but it seems to bear all the more heavy on the path to what the knights can only hope is the final conflict. It took them this long to find the sorcerer once, and they may never have the chance again. The men know it well, and Arthur can feel their watchful gaze on the back of his head like the chains that bind his heart to his chest where it might otherwise beat away with what is left of his dwindled morale.

He knows this will be the end of it as clearly as he knows his own name.

A fact made all the more certain when they come upon a hill before a clearing, and the horses are stopped short by a burst of flame that ignites the trees behind them. Arthur calls for them to dismount and scatter as the next assault strikes, startling the horses away and claiming one of the knights before he even touches the ground, but there isn't a moment to spare him before they've to round on their assailant at the bottom of the hill. Screams echo through the woods as men are tossed about like dolls, fighting futilely that which is a force of nature all its own, until the king steps into the very heart of it and stops the action with one loud beckon.

" _Enough_ , Merlin!"

* * *

> Some time after the second kingdom swears its fealty to Arthur and unites under his rule, rumours of 'High King' begin to spread across the land. With his successes on the battlefields and his growing personhood with the people, it seems all the more likely and hushed voices pass excitedly down corridors and across campfires. Arthur pays it no mind, caring not for title or glamour, only for the love of Camelot and her people. If a thin smile finds its way onto his lips as he walks through the marketplace and a small child runs past with a red shirt tied about his neck, brandishing a broom handle and claiming "For Albion!", it's simply delight in a happiness he could have only ever dreamt of.

> Some time after the whispers begin, Merlin grows quiet. Of this, Arthur also pays no mind.

> It's not an act of negligence or lack of caring, and it's certainly not got past his notice. Where Camelot is the world to Arthur, Merlin is her heart, her very lifeforce, and he'd be blinder than a Wilddeoren not to take note of his upset. But the kingdom's prosperity is not built upon a lucky draw or a kind hand, but through steel and battle, diplomacy and treaties, tireless nights and endless days. The labour of his love turns him away from his love, and it is a conflict of which he has no strategies or plans.

> Instead, Arthur becomes accustomed to sleeping alone at his desk, or at Guinevere's bedside on the nights she feels ill, or not at all for days on end. He speaks only of the next step, the royal matters, falling into the thrown as a cage and watching the world he built from outside. It's terribly lonely and pains him deeply, but the benefits outweigh his sacrifices and Arthur cannot lay down arms for the sake of questioning.

> But he should have.

> "I can't do this again," Merlin says lowly, shaking his head and pacing away from the table of the Court. Arthur grips the edges of the table from where he's standing beside Merlin's seat, lowering his head. Ever since being appointed Court Sorcerer, Merlin has had objections aplenty and usually Arthur can take heed or at least consider, but this is a matter that has been debated countless times with no room for leeway, and they've run up on time.

> "I know it is not _preferable_ -"

> " _No_ , Arthur!" he shouts, turning back with red eyes, tired eyes. Arthur nearly jumps right out of his skin. When did he begin to look so much _older_? "You don't understand. I _can't_ do this."

> Arthur swallows hard. Watching Merlin's magic twist in ugly ways, claiming the lives of men and creatures unknown to this side of the veil has had its toll on the both of them, has weighed heavily on his shoulders for _years_. Of the many sacrifices he's made for the throne, seeing his light tainted into darkness has been the hardest of them - but it's been one he _has_ to make. "Bayard's men are raising arms in Mercia. They have sorcerers on their side, you know I cannot do this without you."

> Merlin scoffs, something ugly and hurtful, turned cold by disillusion and it sets ice in Arthur's veins. "Oh, yeah. Of course. You need your pocket warlock to save the day."

> "You _know_ it's not like that."

> "I'm not another weapon in your armoury, Arthur!"

> " _Mer_ lin!" Arthur shouts, insult stinging deep within at the insinuation, but Merlin shows no sign of relent. His voice raises higher, anger pouring from him in waves, leaving the king reeling.

> "You would have me use my magic to wipe out others of my kind simply because they pose a threat to you and your crown!"

> "They pose a threat to _all_ of us!" Arthur slams his hand down on the table, an entirely foreign rage boiling up and ringing in his ears. They've fought before, but never like this, and it's effectively throwing him off balance completely. "Bayard does not seek to make peace, he seeks to conquer!"

> "There is another way, but you refuse to see it. Your victories have blinded you with arrogance simply because you fancy yourself High King! You are no different from your father!"

> Arthur blanches and startles back. Never, Merlin has _never_ \- "... Is that really what you think of me?"

> "I think nothing of you," he spits venom, and it burns through Arthur's skin to his core, anger bubbling up in its place. "Morgana was right. The Pendragons know only hatred and greed."

> "Mor _ga_ na!" Arthur scoffs, bracing himself against the table and hanging his head. Always a sore spot, a wound that has never - will never - healed, because the loss of his sister to hatred when he held only love can not be mended with time or trial, and now that hatred has taken the only thing he's ever cherished more. Logic is left behind in lieu of fierce betrayal, powerful hurt, and Arthur speaks in a tone so vile, he has trouble believing it's his own voice in his ears. "And what does the witch have to say of the Pendragon King?"

> He sees Merlin sneer, and it's such an ugly thing on such a beautiful face, he feels he might be ill. "She says the blood runs black through the stone heart of a foolish and arrogant boy that would call himself king."

> Arthur straightens, eyes narrowing into blades. "You are close to treason, Merlin."

> "Then declare me a traitor!" Merlin shouts, thrusting his arms out to make himself an open target. "What'll you do, Arthur? Strike me down?" He steps closer, unwavering and fearless, cold and cruel, until he's in Arthur's face. Close enough to touch, miles away, and his hand comes upon the pommel of his sword. There's a challenge in his eyes, something calculated and daring, and he _smiles_. "I'd like to see you _try_."

> A storm floods the room, wind tearing at the drapes and sending papers flying. Arthur shields his eyes away from it, and when it settles, Merlin is gone, taking the world with him and everything goes dark.

* * *

The Earth itself stills, or maybe Arthur only imagines such as his breath is stolen from him and his heart stops with one painful thud as his once-greatest friend turns to face him - and smiles.

"If it pleases my lord," and the sneer shocks Arthur's heart back to action in double time.

"Retreat!" he calls to his knights that have since frozen in place, as though too startled to know what is meant to come next. Arthur does not turn to face them as he shouts his commands. "Gather the wounded, secure them to whatever horses remain. You will wait for me atop the hill."

"But sire -"

" _Go_ ," and they do, leaving only Merlin and that smile that is such a far reach from the one of Arthur's memories that he has half the heart to reach out and touch it, to see if it is really a mask. 

His grip tightens on his blade.

* * *

> Arthur's lips brush against his double-banded ring as he half-heartedly listens to his Council's damage reports from the recent supernatural floods, the lives taken and _we cannot find trace of him, my lord_ \- and he finally raises his eyes to see a handmaiden standing warily off to the side. Timidity and fear shake her frame, and he sits up to beckon her over.

> "M-my lord," she bows her head, and seems incapable of looking him dead on. He would find it curious if he had the energy for it. "I apologise for the intrusion, but - I am sorry, truly, it's --"

> "It's all right," he says gently, "Say your piece." Her eyes finally meet his only to well up with tears.

> "It's the queen."

> Arthur sends a handful of maidservants scrambling to their feet and bowing out the door when he storms into the royal chambers, fear wringing his eyes tight and heart hammering in his chest loud enough to stir armies into battle. There is no shore he would not lay siege upon to stop this, to not feel his heart wilt at the sight of his wife in their bed.

> "Guinevere."

> She turns to him with tired eyes, frailty claiming everything from the strength in her toes to the music of her voice, but not her beauty. Never her beauty, and Gwen is still the most beautiful woman across Albion even when she has hardly the strength to smile.

> "I told them not to call for you."

> "You should have summoned me hours ago," he says softly, kneeling beside her with what feels like a permanent furrow in his brow. She reaches a shaky hand forward to cup his cheek.

> "Oh, but I knew you'd make your brooding eyes. You know how I loathe your brooding eyes." There's nothing cruel in her tone in the least bit, only a gentle smile and adoration as she strokes a thumb against his skin. "But seeing as you're already here, I may well take advantage of you. Lay with me?"

> Cape and crown folded aside on a nearby chair, Arthur sinks into the large bed and pulls Guinevere close, her head nestling into the nook of his shoulder and even when their bodies flushed together, the heat between them is not enough, not enough and Arthur _knows_.

> "Tell me you can hear Gaius' reproach in your head right now," she says playfully, and Arthur laughs but it's hollow.

> "His brows would be through the roof at this point," and she laughs, and then she coughs. Arthur winces; silence falls between them.

> "I miss him," she whispers, and he can only nod his agreement. Age claimed Gaius long before things were turned to ruin, and it's both a blessing and a crime to feel glad for it. Silence settles once more, and Gwen shifts against him before breaking it again. "I was told Morgana's left this world for Avalon."

> There's a pain in her voice that Arthur recognises all too well, and he shakes his head. If there's one thing to be expected of the royal household, it's for secrets to remain such only until the moment word reaches one of the maids. "Gossiping hens. I'll have to sack the lot of them."

> She laughs lightly and slaps his chest. "Be kind. They're very sweet to me, and I won't have you chasing off my friends." Guinevere Pendragon, the only queen to befriend not only the commonfolk of the lower city but the serving hands in Camelot's main castle. The smile that finds Arthur's lips is nothing but fond.

> He still has to ask.

> "Did you love her?"

> No clarification needed, and he doesn't need to look to see her own fond smile. "I do."

> Silence. Unbearable silence, and Arthur can practically hear the melting of the candles, the setting of the Sun, time slipping away from them and it's painful and he's helpless to stop it. Only silence remains.

> "I heard of Merlin as well."

> Arthur stiffens, "Hush, love, I will not burden you with matters of the Court."

> "Please, I am hardly so fragile, _your majesty_." She laughs again, teasing and weak, coughing, stop coughing please stop coughing. If he could will away her illness, he wouldn't spare a heartbeat - or he would spare them all. But he can't. There's nothing to be done for it. They've summoned the best physicians from across the land, begged help of healers and the Druids to no avail. Not even Gaius' putrid concoctions could save the queen.

> Arthur wonders if anything could save them at all.

> She pushes on, pushes forward where Arthur has so often wanted to fall short. Ever the beacon of hope, and she kisses his cheek softly. "Have faith, Arthur. You have the kindest and bravest heart of any man to have walked this earth. I know that you will do right by your kingdom."

> He wonders.

> Guinevere falls asleep to the sound of Arthur's heartbeat - she does not wake in the morn. A kingdom of thousands upon thousands unite in vigil for their fallen queen; Arthur has never felt more alone. And the silence stands eternal.

* * *

"Cleaning up after yourself for once, sire?" Merlin chimes, tilting his head as though it's the most curious thing in the world and it's all wrongwrong _wrong_. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"I imagine I'm still better at it than you," Arthur retorts, trying to sound humourous but it only sounds a bit sad and Merlin laughs. _Laughs_ , and Arthur cringes as though he's fired another ball of flame at him and he may as well have for how much the sound burns, _burns_ , and he's _burning_ under heatless flames. "Do not make me do this, Merlin."

The laughter cuts off abruptly, like someone blowing out a candle and leaving only rising smoke in its wake. Any humour there may have been, however mocking, is replaced with a sharp glare and seething anger. "You knew it would end this way. You gave me your word."

"It doesn't have to -"

"Yes it _does_ \- !"

* * *

> A rare stroke of luck has Arthur in a good mood even from the moment Merlin obnoxiously throws open his curtains to wake him in the morning. Training with the knights goes well and after a long day of tiresome work, he takes the time to relax into a bath before bed. A knock comes at his door as he's toweling off his hair, and he calls a lazy "come in" from behind the fold. Perhaps it ought to be odd that Merlin actually _knocks_ for once before barging into the king's chambers, but Arthur thinks nothing of it and grins before tossing the damp cloth on his head.

> "Oh, good. I worried I might have to dress myself."

> Merlin doesn't complain when Arthur's wet towel lands right on his head, making his face damp in return. Though his lips press together into something dangerously close to a pout, he simply drags the towel off and tosses it into the appropriate bin in the corner. "I fear for the kingdom whose lord doesn't even know how to put on his own trousers." The retort is half-hearted at best, and Merlin just shuffles about near the door, doing nothing to hide his anxiety. "Arthur, we should talk."

> Arthur eyes him warily, noting the tension with a slight frown. "That's not at all foreboding." He pads over to his dresser and pulls out his usual bedpants. If they're going to have a serious discussion, he'd like to at least have his arse covered. "Is everything all right?"

> "Yes," Merlin responds, too fast. "Erm ... no." Arthur frowns, watching as Merlin fights some sort of internal conflict before speaking again. "You know that you can trust me no matter what ... right? Everything that I've done, that I still do, is for you. You're my king, and I'd follow you into any danger, even if you didn't ask me to."

> "... I know you would, Merlin. What's gotten into you? Why are you saying all this?" For once, Merlin doesn't have a mouthload to spit out like a raving madman. That slight worry magnifies tenfold when he drops his gaze to the floor and shakes his head without a word. "Well, come on. Out with it." But there's fear in the other man as well, something Arthur doesn't understand, so he walks over to put his hand on Merlin's arm. "If you're in some sort of trouble, Merlin, you know I'll do what I can to help you but you've got to tell me what it is first."

> "It's not that," he says quickly, a trill of panic weaving into his voice before it dwindles down to near nothing and Arthur isn't even sure he hears him at all when he speaks again. "I have magic, Arthur."

> "... What did you just say?" His grip on his arm tightens a fraction out of fear for the truth, but he does not back away. "Say it again. Louder."

> Merlin repeats the words dully, voice wavering, "I'm a sorcerer. I've had magic since coming to Camelot, since I was _born_." His fists clench as he finally opens his eyes and looks back up at Arthur. "I've only ever used it to protect you and Camelot."

> The last few words hardly register through the onslaught brought on by the others - disbelief, anger, _betrayal_. Something clicks out of place, and suddenly he feels as though he doesn't know the person standing before him. His hand pulls away as though from fire, yet his fingertips grow cold, leaving him to ball them into fists as he tries to fight back the wave of emotions. "You've had magic, this _entire_ time?" There's something heavy in his chest and he's not sure what it is - or what to do about it. He just feels lost. "When have you used it? I want to know every time you've cast a spell behind my back."

> Merlin flinches away from the look on Arthur's face. "We'd ... be here for a while if I listed everything." Realising this _really_ isn't the best thing to say, Merlin bites his lip. A hint of a plea works its way into his expression, into his voice, and Arthur can't begin to imagine what he's asking for. "I'll tell you what you want to know, I promise. It'll just take a while. I never meant to keep it from you this long. I was going to tell you, when we were in Ealdor, but things kept happening, and I guess I just ... got used to it." He takes a tentative step toward him. "Arthur ..."

> Arthur runs a hand over his mouth as he contemplates the time between Ealdor and now, _years, it's been years_ ; a thought hits him, and he holds up a finger to stop Merlin from stepping any closer. Maybe there's too much to list off, but perhaps there's a simpler question, a vastly more important one as well. He keeps his finger raised, swallows hard, and his voice is thick with strain when he finally speaks. "Have you used it on me?"

> Merlin has to pause, which is telling enough, and Arthur feels the world fall out from beneath him. "I ... I've used some healing spells on you," he says, voice small. Healing spells - well, that makes sense. Haven't there been several situations in which he should have logically been killed? Things that never added up, victories that were so blatantly unlikely? He thinks back to Gwen and her father, how he'd confessed and good _God_ , it had actually been him. In front of the entire Court, and Arthur had defended him, had been so blind for _years_ now.

> You've played quite the fool, Arthur Pendragon, and you've played it well.

* * *

His eyes flash gold, but it's not the same breathtaking colour Arthur once used to marvel at during late hours of the night when there was no one in the world but them. It's dark and ugly, a Sun no longer burning, and he barely recovers from the sight in time to dodge the burst of energy from Merlin's outstretched palm. He counters with his sword and clashes with an unseen shield, dodging, striking, ducking away and swinging forward until at last, it stops with the tip of his blade hovering just above Merlin's heart.

"Do it," he spits and their eyes meet, an unspoken ' _please_ ' lingering on both of their lips, and Arthur can'twon't _please_ which only leaves room for the warlock to blast him back a pace and fire yet another spell. Instinct sets in and Excalibur faithfully slices clean through the shocking blue orb of electricity, sparks dancing across his skin and stinging at his eyes as he passes through it and swings upward with one final thrust. There's the familiar give of sinew to steel as the strike hits home and barrels clean through Merlin's stomach.

Warm. Warmth and fire, and Merlin falls against him.

* * *

> His eyes drop away from Merlin as though he can't really stand to look at him - his closest friend and an absolute stranger - and he turns away to lean against his bedpost, arms folded across his chest, trying to hold himself together. "You're free to go."

> A moment of silence passes without the sound of movement before a tremulous mockery of Merlin's voice reaches him. "You're sacking me?"

> Part of him would appreciate Merlin's tenacity, his want to remain despite the betrayal burning through Arthur's veins, stinging at the back of his eyes. Part of him would like nothing more than to laugh and tell him to stop being such a baby, that _of course_ he isn't, that the wrenching in his stomach is simply from Cook's latest experiment with the royal meal.

> But he can't even bring himself to look up and see the devastation he knows will ring clear in Merlin's eyes. He can't clap a hand too hard on his shoulder just to irritate him and tell him _everything's going to be okay_ , because he doesn't know that it will. It isn't, not right now, and Arthur can't stand to see it. "Consider it a holiday. You're always complaining about a few extra days off."

> The words unspoken, his unspoken plea, _just give me some time_ , are heard loud and clear through the wavelength they spent years to establish. Merlin understands, and his voice shakes only just so when he says "Okay. I should just go then. Leave you to rest."

> "Yes. That'd be good."

> And Merlin leaves without another word, but it's a long time before Arthur finds it in him to rest, longer still before he calls upon his servant again. It's near a fortnight later when a guard comes to retrieve Merlin from his chambers, escorting him to the king's and perhaps it seems a bit like Arthur has finally decided his fate, but the guard leaves them both and closes the door behind him. Not a word has passed between them in the time past, but Arthur keeps his eyes trained on Merlin from his seat at the end of his long table, fingers steepled before his lips. A good, long moment passes in horrible, _terrible_ silence before he finally speaks.

> "Show me."

> Merlin blinks in surprise, but betrays no other emotion, only meets Arthur's gaze with steady determination as he outstretches his hand - and a small fire bursts to life in his palm without a word. Arthur knows enough about magic to know spells most often need an incantation, but even if he'd been blind to the world of sorcery, he'd know there is something special about Merlin's flame. It dances playfully across his skin without harming him, almost as though it's alive, its own heartbeat, _Merlin_ 's heartbeat.

> His eyes soften and glaze over as he watches, and Merlin seems to take that as a cue that _this is okay, this is safe_ , and he lets the flame grow larger, brighter, until it takes the form of a dragon - the Pendragon crest, alive and breathing in the king of Camelot's private quarters. Arthur watches with a mixture of awe and terror, wonder and the firm reminder that magic claimed both of his parents, has scorched the grounds of his kingdom time and time again, has taken from him so much, _so much_ , and when the tears spill forth, he makes no move to wipe them.

> "It's beautiful," but he's no longer watching the dragon breathe flame from its nostrils but rather the liquid gold swirling in Merlin's eyes, glowing with warmth and a childish wonder at his own creation. It's beautiful, and haunting; painful, and it _hurts_. Arthur drops his head into his hands with a harsh exhale, overwhelmed and weeping for something he doesn't understand, he doesn't understand and he doesn't know how to. But _gods_ , is he trying.

> Warm, comforting and familiar lips press to the top of his head, but when Arthur looks up, Merlin is gone.

* * *

Arthur pulls his sword free and casts it aside, catching Merlin before he falls and eases him to the ground, kneeling and cradling his head with one hand while pressing the other to his wound. Merlin opens his mouth to speak, frowns when he finds that he _can't_ , and Arthur almost wants to berate him for not being able to shut up even as he lays dying. He also wants to cry. He only does the latter.

"--hurts," Merlin manages, eyes screwing up in pain as his hands cover Arthur's in a feeble attempt to make it stop make it stop _make it stop_.

"I know," Arthur says just above a whisper but it sounds more like ' _I'm sorry_.' Merlin frowns again and reaches a bloodied hand up to touch Arthur's face.

"A mask." But it sounds more like ' _I am too_.'

His hand falls. Arthur curls around him, his cape encasing them both in a blanket of red, a glimmer of gold, and a voice atop the hill proclaims, "The sorcerer has been slain!"

* * *

> "I love you."

> Arthur's eyes open slowly, turning his head on the pillow just slightly to look at Merlin, who is laying beside him on the bed with their hands laced together, his free hand tracing idle patterns and shapes on the back of his hand to leave warm tingles of his magic behind. Arthur smiles lazily.

> "Thank you, I'm rather fond of myself as well."

> "I think you're _supposed_ to say it back."

> Arthur chuckles quietly, pulling their hands to his chest and closing his eyes again. "Fine, fine. I love you as well."

> He feels Merlin shifting beside him. "Do you?"

> "I do."

> "Say it again."

> He opens his eyes and sees bright blue eyes looking right back, expectant and eager.

> "I love you."

> Merlin smiles. "Again."

> Arthur pulls his hand free from Merlin's to brush it against his cheek and bury it in his hair. "I love you." He pulls him down into a gentle kiss, lazy at first, then firmly, and speaks against his lips. "Until the day I die."

> Merlin smiles again and kisses him back.

> "Until the day I die."

* * *

Arthur's broken sobs, the cries of a man that's been robbed of everything he ever held dear, are drowned out by the steady chanting from atop the hill ringing "long live the king!" throughout the forest, unaware of the fact that their king and their leader has already fallen - that the very last piece of Arthur Pendragon died, right before their very eyes.

And Camelot lives on.


End file.
